


"Fun, sweetheart?"

by limesnapdragon



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, One Shot, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Reader-Insert, Self-Insert, Shameless Smut, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-26
Updated: 2015-12-26
Packaged: 2018-05-09 11:03:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5537510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/limesnapdragon/pseuds/limesnapdragon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Reader insert smut with Dean Winchester. That's it, really. Vanilla sex, female reader.<br/>Smut was repeatedly requested on my tumblr, so I thought I'd give it a go.</p>
            </blockquote>





	"Fun, sweetheart?"

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first attempt at writing smut (which is why it is 100% vanilla...). Sex god Dean Winchester is what I am here for. Enjoy! :)

You’d been shooting each other furtive looks all day.

Dean and Sam had showed up to a vampire hunt twenty minutes too late – you’d taken out the nest, you were nonchalantly cleaning your favourite machete when they stormed in, guns ablaze. They had insisted on buying you dinner as thanks, and you and Dean had been hitting it off really well.  
Dean had very innocently offered to show you his knife collection back at their motel, and you had acquiesced, equally innocent. Sam saw the thinly veiled flirting and pretended not to notice. 

The three of you were in the Impala. Dean was driving, Sam in the front seat and you in the back. Sam asked Dean to drop him off at the town library – he said he wanted to do some research for something, and neither of you asked questions.

Sam got out, and the atmosphere was stifling. Chemistry crackled between you, though decidedly not in a bad way. 

Dean headed down the highway, and you had to admit that while loud the Impala was a nice drive. It was also nice to see how many times Dean’s gorgeous green eyes flickered to you as you sat in the backseat. You stretched your arms out above your head, your entire torso going taut, and smiled a little when Dean blinked more rapidly than normal. Yeah, he wanted you, too.

You had executed a textbook perfect raid on a vampire nest and you had done it without getting blood on your clothes, which was a new achievement, and you had sort of neatened your hair, so you looked presentable enough. You hummed to yourself, and Dean noticed. He slid into the cassette player the tune you’d been humming – ACDC’s You Shook Me All Night Long. You smirked a little at its relevance.

Finally, you pulled up to the motel, and headed into their room. It was pretty standard motel room décor, but you weren’t paying attention to it. You were paying attention to Dean, who was an absolutely amazingly good-looking man, and if you were honest with yourself, you were really looking forward to this. You were twenty-five and he twenty-seven; you’d been on a bit of a dry spell recently and Dean Winchester wanted you.

A slightly awkward silence hung in the air. Dean wasn’t as accomplished at reading people as you, and you worried that maybe he actually was going to attempt to show you his knife collection. You had your own knife collection to marvel at. 

You walked over to him, softly, steadily, and stood right in front of him. You could have counted his freckles, and you wondered whether they carried on below his shirt onto his chest. You stared him in the eyes, and wow, he was a good-looking man. He stood taller than you by four or so inches; you were a tall, fairly broad-shouldered hunter. He didn’t tower over you, but you felt small and very feminine beside him. You played absently with the collar of his leather jacket.  
“I’m not here for the knife collection,” you said in a low tone, and understanding clicked in his eyes. 

He leaned in to kiss you. It was gentle and sweet at first, but became something more. It was hot and kind of urgent; you wanted, needed each other right now. One of his hands cupped your jaw, the other was on your waist. Your hands were twined in his hair, and when he nibbled on your lower lip and jerked you in closer to him, you let out a little gasp.  
You were right up against him, but not close enough. It felt like you’d never be close enough. Taking you by surprise, he hoisted you up and walked swiftly over to the kitchenette counter. He sat you down on the cold surface, never breaking the kiss that had become a full-on makeout session. 

You decided to make it even hotter and began to tug at his shirt. He yanked it off, running his big, warm hands lightly down your shoulders and pulling off your shirt. Once it was gone, he came back, looking way too cocky. You smirked and resolved to throw a spanner in his plans.

When he came back, he went straight in for the kiss. You dodged away a little and instead began to nibble on his earlobe. You trailed down to his throat, where you left two marks. He had gone fairly slack, so it was safe to assume that his train of thought had been successfully diverted.

It didn’t last long before he was back at you, trailing kisses so, so slowly down your throat and to your collarbone, where he left a mark of his own. You were running your hands up and down his perfectly muscled back, and you needed more. You were throbbing with desire, and you were fairly certain that Dean was, too. 

You yanked at his jeans and he pulled them off, stopping back to take measure of you. His lips were swollen and pink, his pupils wide and lust-blown, tenting in his boxers. The cold air hit your upper body and you pulled him back to you, running your hands down his chest. “Dean.”  
His hands came down your shoulders and back and gripped your thighs as he picked you up and lay you gently on the bed. He kissed you deeply, with less of the urgent want from earlier. This was Dean making it good, making it last.

His kisses travelled down your body and you were rapidly losing the ability to construct coherent thought. You were a little disbelieving when he stripped down your jeans and underwear in one fluid motion, and you were expecting him to come up and kiss you again when he did something else entirely.  
You were not expecting him to put his mouth to the source of the throbbing inside you but good God were you grateful for it. He kept his large, warm hands on your hips to hold you down while he worked, and you writhed as the burn built up and knotted a hand in his hair. The other hand made a fist in the sheets as Dean redoubled his efforts and the fiery fingers of rapture overcame you. Your toes curled and you shuddered down from the high.

You had weren’t fully recovered when Dean, leaning over you, gave you another of those deep, intense kisses, or when he stroked his hands up and down your waist. You came to your senses enough to pull off his boxers and he stared down at you with lust-filled eyes.

“Are you sure about this?” Dean asked, voice husky.

“What are you waiting for?” you asked in return, voice unsteady. He was hovering over you. You ran your hands along his chest and back. You needed him, all of him.  
You bended your knees upwards, and Dean slid inside you. He gave you a moment to adjust, filling the moment with another attack on the thin skin just above your collarbone. 

“Dean,” you panted. “Dean, please.”

As if on command, he began a steady thrusting speed. He angled himself so that with every thrust he would hit the spot that made you moan quietly. You began to meet his thrusts, and he held your hips and stroked them as you moved in sync. It was maddening – it felt so incredible but at the same time wasn’t enough. The build was too slow. You couldn’t do it, you needed it now. 

“Dean,” you groaned.

He got the hint and began moving faster, and in that moment you could have sworn there was a God. He was close to his edge now, and not one to disappoint, he removed one of his hands from your hips and, while thrusting, began to test the power of his hands on the throbbing that was turning out a drumbeat in you, thumbing and twiddling and drawing circles until you were panting and unable to remember your own name.

It was all too much, and you curled one hand into the sheets and one into his hair as the electricity shot through your body again in waves. Dean was riding out your climax when he, too, reached that elusive peak, and gasped. You kissed, sloppily, and he rolled off of you onto the other side of the bed, quirking an eyebrow at you. “Fun, sweetheart?”


End file.
